Springs and Sprockets
by Blackmoondragon1415
Summary: Possible collection of one-shots featuring Beetlejuice, Lydia, and their car, Dragster of Doom. R&R, please!


A/N: I don't own Beetlejuice. Tim Burton does.

Yeah, first times are the worst in some senses, especially with characters you're only half sure you're doing right. If anyone catches anything out of place, please do not hesitate to let me know!

Enjoy!

* * *

Booted and Clipped:

He had had to dig through a mound of some unidentifiable trash to find the darn thing, and when he did, he contemplated simply telling the person on the other side of the line to go take a long walk down the throat of a short Sandworm. That is, until he heard a rather familiar sounding set of beeps tentatively echoing through the phone.

"_Doomie?_ Is that you? Whatcha doin' calling, you stuck in a ditch somewhere?"

There was a tense silence before a few more machine whirrs and beeps came through, something that the poltergeist blinked confusedly at before responding.

"You're _where_? Sorry Doomeroo, you'll have to slow up with the noise, I can't understand a word you're saying."

Another pause as the car started again, this time taking care to state, as well as he could, the situation that he had found himself in.

"You were _towed_?! How in the heck did a _tow truck _manage to nail _you_?" The brief transformation into a nail went unheeded as the ghost continued to rant. "You who outdrives cops every other week? You who can change into a four-wheeled menace of the street whenever you want?!"

The other side of the phone line suddenly exploded with a torrent of near-panicked beeping, during which Doomie stated that he didn't know how it had happened, he was unable to change for reasons unknown, and had started to babble some nonsense about the Neitherworld Junkyard before Beetlejuice decided he'd had enough and cut in, in his usual fashion.

"QUIET!" He shouted, satisfied to hear the racket on the line stop in under a second. Sighing lightly, Beetlejuice briefly scrunched up his face in indecision before talking into the phone. "Well, I guess I can make a quick stop by the Neitherworld Impound. The Beetle Connoisseur Convention's happening just up the road from there, you know."

A splurge of beeped gratitude came through the phone, to which the ghost rolled his eyes, muttered something unintelligible into the phone, and then hung up.

* * *

"Alright, buddy, where's my car?"

The receptionist sighed, let her bubble gum pop over the lower part of her bony face, and responded in a bored tone.

"Name?"

"Beetlejuice. Now where the heck is my car?"

"Form of identification please."

Grumbling something about prissy receptionists and troublesome vehicles, Beetlejuice fished around in his pocket for a moment before coming up with his driver's lice-ense, which he reluctantly proffered to the apathetic woman. Briefly breaking her otherwise monotone expression to disgustedly shake some lice from the card, her eyes briefly scanned over the name and picture before handing it delicately back to the impatient poltergeist, who snatched it back with an incensed growl.

"**Now **can I find out where my car is?"

"Can you provide a description of the vehicle?"

Slapping a hand over his face, Beetlejuice folded his arms before responding tightly.

"Yellow convertible, white-wall tires, skull ornament on the hood, y'know, _looks like__** this**_!"

The somewhat Beetlejuice-looking copy of Doomie was given a raised eyebrow, but otherwise, the receptionist didn't comment. Beetlejuice felt another impatient snap coming on, though thankfully the process seemed to be moved along quite a bit by the lifelike model.

"Just follow the signs to the garage. Your car should be in there." She directed waving her hand at the nearby door in a dismissive gesture. Snorting like an angry bull [and sporting a rather convincing bull's head], Beetlejuice tramped through the door, and found himself in an expansive garage, with cars practically lining the walls. All of them were in various states of newness and wear, though not a single yellow frame stood out among them.

"Doomie?" Beetlejuice called, trying to sound nonchalant. Then again, it wasn't as though he were simply calling the car for his health, and there was also the fact that there was no answer, something that was odd given how eager the vehicle seemed to leave. Maybe the bit about the Neitherworld Junkyard hadn't been hooey after all…

"Doomie? Hey, Doomeroo, where are you? Beep if you hear me!"

Cupping a hand over his ear, Beetlejuice listened for a good three seconds, and nearly went on a much more fevered trying-to-be-nonchalant search. That is, until he heard the faint sounds of familiar honking coming from somewhere off to the left.

"Ima comin', Doomie! Hold your horses!" Which might not have been the best thing to say, as he was suddenly holding the reins of at least four horses, none of which were very interested in staying put. Thankfully he was headed in the right direction, and the wall provided a rather good, if unorthodox and painful stopping point. Beetlejuice peeled himself off the stone wall, hand on his forehead as he tried to regain his bearings.

_Beep beep?_

"I'm _fine_, Doomie. Quit being such a worrywart." The poltergeist muttered, transforming into the respective growth as he glared at the hesitant car before realizing just who he was looking at.

"Doomie! Do you know how long it took me to find you?! Not to mention the prissy little receptionist I've had to deal wi-why're you in a cell?" For it was true. In-between Beetlejuice and Doomie were several thick bars, all making a barrier keeping the car in the impound. Though that wasn't quite it for security measures. As Doomie sluggishly edged closer to the bars, Beetlejuice noticed a weird limp in the car's back right tire, not to mention the glaringly out of place red boot.

"Hey, buddy, this one yours?"

Turning, Beetlejuice caught sight of a mechanic who had just arrived on the scene, leaning nonchalantly against the wall near the bars.

"Yep, so how's about getting him outta there?"

The bars were slid back within the next few seconds, and Doomie quickly hobbled his way to his creator's side.

"He's lucky you got here so fast; the police chief was really pushing to have him sent off to the Junkyard."

While Doomie shook and beeped quietly, Beetlejuice merely scoffed, leaning against the nervous car's side and crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Course he would, it's _my_ car."

"Right. Okay, I'll get that boot off in a minute, though you'll have to pay me first. Company policy." The mechanic said, missing the way Beetlejuice's smug grin immediately dropped at the last series of words. Luckily for the poltergeist, the phone started ringing in the nearby office, and the mechanic immediately excused himself to go get it.

"Um, Doomie, we may have a problem. I don't actually have any money to pay the guy with."

_Beep?_

"No, I mean I don't have _anything_. Nothing, nada, zilch, zero." The speech was rounded off with a quick transformation into a Beetlejuiced goose egg, though the strangled noise that Doomie made showed that he clearly wasn't finding this humorous in the least.

"Don't blow your gaskets, Doomeroo. I got a plan…"

* * *

"So, _how_ did you two even get out of there?" Lydia asked later. Beetlejuice was preoccupied with trying to get the boot off of Doomie's wheel, not that he was having much luck. The poltergeist went through a wrench, crowbar, and finally a baseball bat with little to no mark left on the piece of metal. Taking a quick break from his war on the car boot, Beetlejuice exchanged a glance with Doomie, the car's somewhat blank look conveying that he wasn't sure how they'd escaped either.

"Well, it was a lot easier when we got outside…"

_Beep beep beep. Beep!_

"Yeah, that receptionist could sure move though, thought our goose was cooked for a minute there." Beetlejuice remarked, changing into a seared fowl and back. Lydia chuckled a bit at the unintentional transformation, then watched as the ghost appeared to have a breakthrough with the car boot.

"Alright, babes, I think I've beaten it this time!"

_B-BEEP BEEP!_

"Oh, whoops. Guess that was something that was supposed to _stay_ attached."

Figuring she should get involved before Doomie lost more parts, Lydia approached the restrained wheel, looking the problem over and shaking the metal clamp for a moment before coming up with a solution.

"How about we just let the air out of the tire? Then we could slide the boot off." The girl suggested, something that Beetlejuice grinned at, and Doomie both squirmed and partially smiled at. He wanted the thing off, sure, but did they have to puncture his tire?

As though sensing the car's apprehension, Lydia knelt next to the hood, gently resting a hand on the top of the yellow metal lid.

"It'll be fine, Doomie, and we'll fix it as soon as the boot's off, okay?"

The convertible squirmed a bit as he debated, then beeped his approval.

"Alrighty then, Doomster. Now remember, this won't hurt me in the least."

Doomie outright cringed at that, leaning in Lydia's direction as his frame outright trembled. As Beetlejuice approached with a rather wicked looking needle, the car shut off his headlights, waiting for the-.

**POP**-_sssssss…._

And the fearful little sounds Doomie had made turned into one confused engine hiccough when the only thing he felt was a drop in his back right side.

_Beep?_

"Yes, Doomie, that's it." Lydia replied, easily sliding the car boot off of the shrunken tire. Doomie and Beetlejuice must have battered it pretty good during their escape, as the locking mechanism only required a little bit of shaking before giving. Doomie beeped enthusiastically at the feeling of the released wheel, and crowed even more when the tire was inflated back to its proper size.

"Done, Doomie, now I-HEY!" Beetlejuice cried out as the convertible tackled him to the ground, tongue sweeping over his face in a grateful gesture. "Giddown you crazy car!"

"He's only saying thank you, Beetlejuice." Lydia remarked lightly, hiding a small grimace as the car then proceeded to give the girl a slightly toned down version.

"He can keep his thanks!" The ghost hollered, wiping at his face and shirt front of oily car slobber.

* * *

So, reviews, crit? Help a writer out folks!


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